


Prince Pumpkin

by delicious-irony (deliciousirony)



Series: SPN Writing Prompt Challenge [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Supernatural Writing Challenge, Supernatural Writing Challenge September 2016
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 01:31:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8382700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicious-irony
Summary: It is almost winter when Castiel finds Dean hurt by the river. He hasn't got much to call his own, but he takes the stranger to his small cottage outside the village, and they quickly fall in love. Unbeknownst to Dean, Castiel has seen the contents of his bag, and has come to the conclusion that, while a good man whom he trusts implicitly, Dean is also a thief. When the Royal Guard arrives at the village, most likely looking for the things Dean has stolen, Castiel is so afraid for Dean that he makes a possibly very bad decision.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For the sadly very last edition of the **[SPN Writing Challenge](http://spnwritingchallenge.tumblr.com)**. The theme was 'autumn' and the prompt was 'pumpkin'.  
>     
> Come say hello to me on Tumblr at **delicious-irony.tumblr.com**! I tag all my writing with #delicious-irony writes.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> _This hasn’t been beta’ed yet, but a very kind soul has agreed to do so, so hopefully I’ll get around to polishing this in the near future._

Castiel wakes with the first timid rays of sunshine that sneak through the leather covering of his window. He briefly considers trying to get back to sleep, but he knows he can’t. Not today. His heart clenches. Beneath the blankets there is warmth, a warmth that has kept him warm in so many ways. 

Castiel allows himself to close his eyes and to commit this moment to memory. The languid heat emanating from the still sleeping man behind him, the arm draped around his waist, the mild puffs of breath making his hair shift like seagrass in the roll and drag of the tide. Castiel has been tending his hope like he would the last glowing ember in the heath on a cold winter night, with utmost care to keep it alight, but with no illusion that it might go out anyway. Summoning all his strength, he finally gets up, careful not to wake Dean. Castiel had known his hopes had been in vain when he had seen the King’s Guard ride into his small village yesterday.

The cold October air chills Castiel more than he had thought it would. There had not been enough coals left to last through the night; he had gone through the entire rest of his reserve during the last three weeks to make sure Dean was warm enough. Castiel doesn’t know how he will keep his hut from freezing this winter; the fallen branches he collects for fire wood all year long and dries in the back of his hut will have to do. Coals are a luxury he usually keeps for the coldest winter nights, but with Dean ill Castiel had not wanted to take any chances. The three buckets of coals he had been able to afford this years would not have lasted long anyway. 

Castiel makes sure Dean is well covered and he wants nothing more than to kiss Dean farewell, even just on his brow, a last time, but he denies himself. If Dean were to wake up, he would not allow Castiel to do what he knows he must. Suddenly everything goes blurry and it takes Castiel a second to make his way across the room to Dean’s mangled leather bag. Aware of every sound, Castiel opens it, slowly, and removes the bundle of cloth that he knows contains a simple circlet, a necklace with a horned amulet, and a signet ring. All made of gold, and all carrying the insignia of the Crown Prince Michael. The Crown Prince Michael who, Castiel had learnt yesterday, is missing, has been missing for some time now, apparently abducted by some cutthroats hired by the former Royal Advisor Metatron.

When Castiel had found Dean next to the river almost a month ago, he had been hurt and lost. Castiel had taken Dean in, cared for him, and accidentally discovered the contents of his bag when he had looked for information on the man in his care. He had surmised that Dean was a thief, but he trusted Dean when he had said that he had never unjustly killed anybody. Castiel knew he was acting irrationally, foolishly, naively. He had nothing but Dean’s word to assure him that he would not be murdered in his sleep. And yet. His instinct had been to trust Dean, and he had always been able to trust his instincts. There had been something about the man with the bright green eyes and the gentle smile, and while Castiel recognised that he had never seen anybody more beautiful, the way Dean talked about his brother and his friends, the little things Dean tried to do for Castiel told him that the beauty he beheld in Dean’s face had its counterpart in Dean’s heart. And so Castiel had trusted him, a stranger who was likely a thief, and before he had realised it, he had fallen in love. 

At least Dean had fallen for Castiel just as rapidly, and as completely. They had gravitated towards each other, with shy looks and flustered smiles, until they had somehow ended up so close that it was impossible to tell where one’s space ended and the other’s began. Kissing Dean for the first time had been like coming home, like coming in from the searing cold of their northern winter nights and stepping in front of a gently burning fire. 

Castiel doesn’t know whether the guards are looking for Dean specifically, but he knows that Dean will not be able to escape the guards once they start searching their village. Every village is being searched for the prince or at least information, and theirs is just the last one before the sheer rocks of the mountains behind it. There is nowhere else to go, especially not this late in autumn with the mountains’ summits already wearing bright, white hats. It is only a question of time before they don their matching white capes.  
Dean has a brother who he needs to take care of, but Castiel has nobody left. He will risk returning the stolen jewellery, hoping that he might get a reward, dreading that he might be taken in, for theft if he is lucky, for suspected abduction or worse if he is not. 

Castiel pulls on his second-best coat, made from corse, tan fabric; the thick, woollen one he leaves for Dean. Dean’s coat had been unsalvageable. Castiel tries to enjoy the crisp air on his walk down to the village, his breaths drifting away from him in tiny puffy clouds, but all he can think of is the man who has given his life meaning again.

By now the sun is peaking out and the morning mist is glowing pink. The leaves are bright and colourful. The ground is covered heavily with dew, the more exposed places with frost. They all glitter in the strengthening light. It’s beautiful. The houses he passes are decorated with wreaths of woven wheat, ribbons and carved pumpkins in honour of the upcoming festivities. Dean loves pumpkin pie. Castiel had soon discovered that Dean loves any sort of pie, especially pumpkins. Sugar is expensive, but pumpkins are cheap and sweet. Castiel has not told Dean that this is the main reason he usually made pumpkin pie when he could afford the butter for the crust. On Dean’s first visit to the village, once he had been better, Dean had been so excited about all the pumpkins that he had bought four different kinds - a chunk of an enormous Hubbard, a Butternut, a Buttercup and a Spaghetti. Castiel had pointed out that those were all, in fact, technically squashes, but Dean had insisted on calling them pumpkins, and Castiel had ended up calling Dean Prince Pumpkin. Dean had laughed so hard he had dropped the Butternut, which had promptly exploded upon impact on the ground. Dean had retaliated calling Castiel Princess Buttercup, and Castiel had pretended annoyance and had told Dean off, but Dean had only laughed more loudly, eyes twinkling with mirth. They had kept calling each other Pumpkin and Buttercup, each huffing and puffing, and each with the same soft smile on his face.

Too soon Castiel arrives at the inn where the guards have spent the night.

The guards are up and out and about already, preparing their horses. They look up when Castiel comes close. He identifies the captain easily, a bear of a man with a surprisingly well-kept beard. The man raises his eyes questioningly when Castiel steps up to him.

“Good morning,” Castiel greets.

The captain briefly inclines his head in greeting. 

“Good morning to you as well,” he says. “It is early to be out.” 

The last part is clearly meant as a question. 

“I heard you were looking for information on the crown prince,” Castiel starts. 

The guards perk up and shift closer. Castiel takes a deep breath. Now or never, he supposes. For Dean, he thinks. “I have something that might be of interest to you, but I do not know if it will help you find him.”

Without any more ado, Castiel pulls out the regal paraphernalia. There is a collective gasp, and the captain’s eyes grow hard.

“Why do you have those.”

This time it is not so much a question, but a demand. 

“I found them by the river outside the village,” Castiel lies. “About three weeks ago? No, almost four.”

The guards do not look convinced, but maybe that’s just Castiel’s knowledge that he is a bad lier. A shitty lier, according to Dean.

“Are you sure?” The captain sounds as if he is sure that Castiel is lying. 

Castiel nods, his eyes wide. Please, let them believe him. Please, let them not find Dean. It suddenly occurs to Castiel that the guards might search his little hut anyway, maybe they would not even have found it, tucked away close to the woods as it is, and now he, wanting to help Dean, might have sent them to him. His stomach plummets. 

Castiel’s face must be mirroring his sudden terror and the guards need no further command from their captain to seize Castiel. He can feel their hard grip through his thin coat, he will likely have bruises, but right now he doesn’t feel the pain. 

“Y-yes,” Castiel tries. “There were signs of a struggle, and no horse or anything, just a bag, next to the stone, and I didn’t take the bag-…”

Castiel is babbling and both he and the guards know it. 

“You’re lying,” the captain hisses, coming close to his face. He turns to his guards. “We’ll get the truth out of this. Garth, Jo, ask around, find out where he lives, search his place, bring back anything that might be of interest.”

The two guards nod and get on their horses; another guard steps up and starts tying Castiel’s wrists behind his back. Castiel is panicking. He should have simply hidden the regalia somewhere, anywhere; he should have simply hidden Dean. Who cares about whether some crown prince he had never met was or wasn’t found.

**Author's Note:**

> I also have a small art blog, delicirony.tumblr.com \- my art tag is #delicirony. If you’d like to have a look, you can also find [my artsy stuff on AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/delicirony).


End file.
